


Muscle Memory

by themoonandmargot



Category: Smosh
Genre: M/M, That's what this fic is, it's complicated - Freeform, new year's, sorta angst, sorta fluff, sorta hurt/comfort, the concept of being so into someone that when you talk to them none of it makes sense?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandmargot/pseuds/themoonandmargot
Summary: A couple hours into the new year, Shayne is awaken by a phone call from Damien.The rest is muscle memory.





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the 2016 version of Muscle Memory by Lights. Enjoy!

The ice cubes don’t clink well against his plastic cup, but Damien swirls them anyway. He imagines friends across town, across the nation, across the world—swirling their drinks in the same exact manner, but happier, and with more alcohol. It almost hurts to listen to, the entire world singing an ear-shattering song of ice against glass, all while Shayne quietly pads his way into his bedroom.

“So, how was the stream?” Shayne sighs, settling into Damien’s gaming chair. For a second, Damien is embarrassed to think that the leather is still warm, but he blinks away the insecurity.

“Really good. Really fun. I’ve never spent New Year’s Eve with that many people,” he says, laughing a bit at his honesty. “I mean, I guess I have, but… not with people who care about me as much as I care about them.”

Shayne’s face screws up as he pulls one foot onto his seat. “That’s not true. They care about the idea of you, not… Well, not _necessarily…_ ” Shayne trails off, hiding behind his own plastic cup, before shrugging. “I mean, either way. The people you know care about you a lot more than you think.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Damien says. And Shayne _is_ right, Damien knows it, but he still doesn’t like the pointedness of Shayne’s words, not when he knows where he was just fifteen minutes ago:

Sitting where Shayne is, with the camera off and his cell phone tucked under his chin. Damien tries doing breathing exercises to the starts and pauses of the ringing, but he can’t get the timing right. He resorts to plucking the hair off his own knuckles—not that the hair bothers him, but instead the lack of something to do does. He almost loses hope that Shayne will pick up, that he’s making the right decision, that Shayne would want to talk to him in the first place, until the ringing stops and Shayne lets out a groggy “hello”.

Damien’s hand steadies the phone against his ear and the air goes still. _Hi, Shayne. Happy New Year,_ he rasps into the speaker. _Can you come here? Please?_

So now Shayne is here, sitting across from Damien’s bed. The silence festers long enough to make Damien feel like he owes Shayne an explanation, so he gives one before Shayne can ask for it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about live streaming because it really does feel like they care and I think they do, it’s just… there’s no way they really know who they say they care about, right? And the fact that it’s a holiday, too… I mean, I’ve spent New Year’s without family so it’s not like I’m especially missing them. I just miss… I miss…”

“Intimacy?” Shayne mumbles.

The word makes Damien look up from his sheets. “Intimacy?” he echoes.

“Like, real interaction with someone you’re close with. A genuine connection. Intimacy.” They stare a second too long at each other before Damien looks away and Shayne shrugs. “I’m not implying anything. You’re allowed to say if I’m right.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Damien says. “Though I think it’s a little too on-the-nose.”

“So I _am_ right.”

Damien rolls his eyes before focusing his attention back to his hands. Talking with Shayne has eased his mind to some capacity, he admits. But he feels vulnerable, too open of a book for Shayne to read. And to his misfortune, Shayne is only getting bolder.

“Do you remember a few years ago, when we spent New Year’s together?” Shayne asks, standing up to sit closer to Damien. The bedsprings creak under Shayne’s weight, and Damien wonders why his heart starts pounding ten times faster. “Do you remember how drunk you got?”

“Yep, and that night is why I don’t drink anymore,” Damien quips.

“Yeah, but we started dating because you kissed me at midnight, so it had to be worth something, right?”

Damien shifts, growing more uncomfortable with each question. “Eh, sure,” he says. “We were doomed from the beginning, but sure.”

The acidity in Damien’s voice does nothing to intimidate Shayne. “Does that count as intimacy?” he asks, facing Damien and urging him to meet his eyes. “Is that what you miss?”

 _I miss you,_ Damien nearly says, eyes drifting down Shayne’s face. Then he looks up and thinks for the better. “Yeah,” he says, “I miss that kind of intimacy.”

The shift is evident in that moment; the air becomes thick enough to distract them, to pull them in and let their guards down for the tiniest of moments. It squeezes a small, awkward sound out of Damien, something like a laugh. Then Shayne, though wary of the newfound rush in his veins, is reckless enough to move closer.

They graze noses. Damien almost falls into Shayne, almost gets drunk on him for the second time on New Year’s. But a firm hand against his chest keeps him back.

“Damien,” Shayne murmurs, “why really did you call me here?”

Damien frowns, blushes as his mind screams in impatience— _i_ _ntimacy, right? haven’t we already discussed this?_ —but then he notices it, the slightest of smirks across Shayne’s face. It’s a complete 180° turn, the somersault of emotions that takes Damien from compulsively ripping out his own hair to acting needlessly coy with his ex-boyfriend. All of it makes Damien hate himself a tad more, but it also makes the urge to kiss Shayne just that much stronger. So he lets go.

“Alright, smartass. Just kiss me already.”

Grinning, Shayne finally presses his lips to Damien’s. And like muscle memory, Damien kisses him right back.

He doubts he ever really needed alcohol all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year's, my dudes. To start off 2019, here's a short fic I wasn't expecting to write/pump out so quickly. Comment below, check out my Tumblr @shaymiens, and stay swaggy!


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